


Angel Eyes

by Lthien



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Destiel - Freeform, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Im going to rot my own teeth out with this stuff, Lots of Angst, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Winchester Family Issues, broken! cas, cas has panic attacks, hello world, john is a jerk as always, past mentions of domestic abuse, sam and dean don't get along well, tags to be added later, these idiots are cute ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7005070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lthien/pseuds/Lthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, a chivalric cop that puts everything he has in the line of duty, comes face to face with a stranger--a man that has saved his life more than once--and finds himself trying to unlock his mysterious savior's horrific past, finding out along the way that life has the most screwed up way of bringing two people together, and that fate is both cruel and giving. (Destiel) :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fight and Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm going to go ahead and say that this is my first destiel fanfic, but I just could not help myself with this one...I watched the Jennifer Lopez movie, Angel Eyes, and couldn't believe how much the story reminded me of Castiel and Dean. THERE WAS EVEN AN AWKWARD, TRENCH COAT WEARING, MAN WITH ENTICING BLUE EYES (?). An untrusting cop—Dean? Yess… I literally could not stop myself from doing this. ANGEL EYES FOR GOD'S SAKE. *throws lap top*

Dean Winchester's day had begun like any other did: a quick stop at his favorite hometown coffee shop, Ellen's. After about two cups he had gotten up, chatted with Ellen and Joe for a bit, and left for his day shift. Chicago was busy as hell, as usual, and Dean was made for it. Nothing went past his electric green gaze, and the city knew it…as did its criminals.

Dean had made it his mission to clean the streets of Chicago of any gang violence, more than once referring it to 'Mission Batman,' something his younger brother Sam had rolled his eyes at. However, Dean's mission was slowly coming to reality, having taken down multiple gang leaders in the past, and he was becoming a real threat in the eyes of the city's delinquents—a red beacon.That is one reason why Dean knew that he should have waited for backup…or called for backup, at least. 

The cop had followed three gang members foolishly into a back alley, his sense of justice clouding any other sense of self preservation. Two were known trouble makers, one Dean knew personally from a drug bust a while back. The third looked relatively new…young, and that's what truly made the cop follow them (Dean had always had a rather huge soft spot for the younger delinquents, he being one himself once). 

Dean was ambushed as soon as he had rounded the corner, the youngest landing a right hook on the cop's jaw. He was pushed back for a quick second, shocked, before three other men joined in. It was six to one and Dean's luck was beginning to wear thin, the cop spitting out a mouthful of blood when he could. It seemed the men liked pounding him with their fists rather than shooting him with the guns they had hidden in their back pockets. Outnumbered or not, Dean fought back, managing to knock out a few teeth of one, and box the ears of another.

"You really don't play safe, do you, Winchester?" One of the men scoffed, spitting blood and punching Dean in the stomach, pushing the cop against a dirty wall. Dean wheezed loudly, buckling in on himself. He grunted when his chin was clasped by a bony hand, fingers digging into his flesh, forcing him to look up. "A pretty face you may got, but you ain't got the brains!" Dean glared at the man with ferocious green eyes.

"Like you do? Alistair?" Dean bit back, strong. Alistair smiled wickedly at his captive, bloody teeth and all, clicking his tongue at him.

"You got balls kid," Alistair mused. Dean blinked in raw fear when he felt the cool metal of a gun pressed against the underside of his chin. "Now, how 'bout we see how pretty your blood looks painted—" Alistair was suddenly cut off and Dean barely caught sight of brown and black before he found himself free, his knees almost buckling in on themselves.

The cop watched, wide-eyed, as a random man began fighting his fight against his assaulters. The man wore a trench coat (that honestly looked like it had seen better days), and a simple black suit with a crisp blue tie. What really shocked Dean, however, was the fact that the man was winning. 'Trench Coat,' Dean quickly mused, was swift on his feet, shined shoes or no, and he had quickly sent two of Alistair's men flying, Alistair himself still dazed at the sudden onslaught. However, Alistair wasn't dazed for long, and Dean's heart nearly stopped when he saw the silvery flash of a gun. Dean sprung into immediate action. 

"Watch out...!" Dean cried as he pushed his body away from the safety of the wall, shoving Trench Coat out of the way. He caught Alistair's wicked smile for a split second before a gunshot rang high and shrill through the air and Dean felt undeniable pain rushing through his chest. He fell to the ground, wide-eyed in shock.

He was shot. 

He was shot, and Trench Coat's eyes widened like his own, watching as Dean fell to the ground. The man let out a hurt, angry sound, anger-fueled, and he fought even harder then, breaking whatever was there to break next.

Dean, however, was in a fog as he tried pushing his body up, the chaos in front of him fuzzy as his hands shakily went to his chest. He pulled at his shirt, buttons flying. He pressed against his bullet proof vest and then against his neck, his trembling fingers still white. He wasn't bleeding, but his chest was on fire.

Before Dean had realized it, the backup he should have called earlier was there, Trench Coat having pressed Alistair's face into the cement. Alistair's goons had run off, leaving him behind, while the man himself was hissing like an animal under unyielding hands, blue eyes furious and wet with tears. That is, before Trench Coat found himself being arrested along with Alistair, blue eyes blinking wetly, innocently confused. It took a very hoarse, "—ey, wait," from Dean to get them to stop. Dean pushed himself out of the mother-henning grips of Bobby and ambulance personnel alike, Bobby babbling on in his ear about his idiocy, and stood up. 

"Let him go," Dean said, ignoring Bobby. "…He had nothing to do with any of this mess. He saved my life." Bobby shut up after that, much to Dean's delight, the older man looking at Trench Coat in new light.

"You heard 'em, boys. Let him go." Bobby said when they looked at him for affirmation. Trench Coat was looking at Dean in both awe and happiness, hair disarray.

"Thank you...I thought you had died back there," The man murmured and rubbed at his wrists when he was set free. Dean managed a stiff smile, rubbing his bruised clavicle. Blue eyes followed his movements and Dean stopped.

"Yeah, same," Dean said and smiled awkwardly at him. "Um, thank you, by the way. You saved my life. I'm Dean." Dean offered him his hand and Trench Coat looked at it intensely for a few seconds before clasping it with both of his own, making Dean jump. Dean was vaguely aware of Bobby pushing Alistair into his cop car, the vile man flashing his eyes at his back, but he was more focused on the strange man before him than the villain behind.

Dean quickly pulled his hand back after a few seconds, feeling his ears burning red. "Um, yeah," The cop said and started backing away awkwardly, half tripping over his feet. "Thank you again, man. Next time I see you—if I do, I mean; you know, this city's big—" Dean was rambling but Trench Coat was smiling widely at him, watching him trip away. "Yeah, I'll buy you coffee." Dean was glad that Bobby called for him then, the cop looking at the strange man once more before running over to Bobby, his ears still pink.

Blue eyes watched him go, a full mouth curling into a warm smile. "It's a promise, then...Dean."


	2. Angels Are Watching Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was Trench Coat again, and he was looking at...something. Even from afar, Dean could tell that he looked worried. Dean's stomach churned unpleasantly and he put his bottle down immediately…maybe a bit too hard. Was he actually being stalked? Who the hell was this guy?

2 days later…

\-----------------

"Wait, let me get this straight," Cole slurred over the rowdy crowd, swirling his beer bottle crudely. "A random civilian actually saved your ass? And you say that he knocked them flat? Alistair?" Dean smiled and nodded once before taking a long sip from his own bottle.

"Hell yeah, man. The dude came out of nowhere," Dean laughed as he put down his bottle. "I don't even know how he saw the fight; it was in a shady alley!" Cole paused for a second, gears turning. The cop put down his bottle, looking at his friend seriously. Dean's eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" Dean asked. From across the other side of the table Bobby watched Dean closely, the older man's beer forgotten. A few other cops had joined Dean for a few beers at a local tavern, Rufus included, Bobby paying in honor of Dean's well-being. All of them were looking at Dean now, concern on their faces.

"What?" Dean asked again quickly, looking around the table.

"…You don't think he's stalking you, do you?" Cole said softly; the first one to say it out loud. "This, Trench Coat dude…or whatever. Did you really not ask for his name?" Dean flushed and took another sip of his beer. He had honestly been too swept up in all the chaos to ask.

"No, and I don't think so." Dean said as he put his bottle back down, empty. He gestured at a waitress who came over and replaced his empty beer with a new, cold one. "Never seen him before, you know, I have sharp eyes." Cole rolled his eyes and Bobby huffed.

"Some eyes you got there, boy. Gettin' jumped in broad daylight…They must really have it out for you." Dean hummed in agreement and took a sip from his beer, looking out the glass window behind Bobby's head. A flash of tan caught his eye, from across the street, and Dean about sputtered on his beer.

There was Trench Coat again, and he was looking at something. Even from afar, Dean could tell that he looked worried. Dean's stomach churned unpleasantly and he put his bottle down immediately…maybe a bit too hard.

"What is it?" Bobby asked and turned around in his chair, confused.

"Is that…?" Cole asked and Dean nodded once, his facial expression taunt.

Was he actually being stalked? Who the hell was this guy?

"Give me a sec," Dean said and swung his legs off his stool. He had maybe walked two feet when all hell broke loose. A bright red Chevy swerved in the road, the shine of guns glittering out of rolled down windows.

It was Alistair's men…The ones that had got away.

That was what Trench Coat was looking at.

"Get down!" Dean screamed and managed to tackle Bobby to the ground before gunshots and terrified screams erupted in the bar, glass shards flying. From across the street, Trench Coat was already moving, the stranger rushing into the danger without pause, his blue eyes wide in horror. Cole was shot in the arm before he managed to hit the floor, Dean screaming his name as he went down. The gunshots seemed to go on forever, as did the screams. It was maybe five seconds, but it felt like hours, and then it was suddenly over.

Dean pulled his gun out the moment the buzzing in his ears stopped, dazed and enraged. He stumbled out the bar, Bobby calling out for him, the crunching of broken glass loud in his ears. He ignored Bobby altogether. Dean looked both ways down the street, his gun raised high. He was pleased to find that the bastards had smashed their cherry red Chevy into pole not twenty feet from the bar. Their getaway plan did not go as planned, it seemed as it looked like they had hit a few cars trying to flee. The bastards.

Dean rushed to the car, screaming orders into his receiver, his gun not yet lowered. The driver was unconscious and bleeding from a wound on his head. There was another passed out in the passenger seat, but it looked like the others had run away on foot. Dean looked at the car itself, feeling a sharp pain of regret. It was a damned beauty. 1968. Damn.

"This is Dean Winchester. We got ourselves a shootout at 1st and 2nd street, one cop down for sure, and maybe a few civilian injuries. The assaulters are on foot, running south. Get the bastards." Dean ended, snarling without a damn of protocol. Dean slammed his palm down, hard, on the damaged car, cursing under his breath. The cop was frozen in place, his brain churning. He should have seen this coming. He should have protected his friends. He should have never been with them. It should have been him who had been sho—

"Are you all right, Dean?" Dean whipped around to find Trench Coat staring at him with concern, his coat rattier looking than before. Dean snapped. The cop grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him up against the car, his face taunt and hurt.

"Who are you?" Dean practically snarled, the cop feeling his eyes sting with tears. "What do you want?" The man looked honestly shocked, his blue eyes wide and innocent. Dean felt a twinge of guilt and he let him go almost immediately, backing away with a sharp apology. The man did not seem fazed, nor did he bother to fix his rumpled appearance. However, the look in his eyes screamed that he wasn't all there. He looked at Dean dazedly, the cop unable to look away from ocean blue eyes.

"I'm…Castiel," The man practically murmured and Dean's eyebrows furrowed further, wondering for a second if the ringing in his head messed something up.

"Castiel?" Dean asked, rolling the odd name on his tongue. Castiel nodded once, the dazed look in his eyes not going away. Dean looked at him like he had two heads. "What kind of name is that? Don't you have a last name?" Castiel looked downright scared at the mention of a last name and the man looked down, his blue eyes flicking back and forth, as if he were trying to remember something dreadfully important. He looked downright horrified and Dean felt a chill run down his spine. He gingerly touched Castiel's shoulder, the rumpled man immediately jumping back as if Dean had shocked him, blue eyes impossibly wide. .

"I-I'm sorry," Dean mumbled, his hand still extended towards him. Castiel looked ready to bolt. "Cas—"

"Dean!" Dean turned around as Bobby barreled his way over to him. "Are you all right? You idiot! Cole was shot! So was Rufus, in the shoulder, but they'll live. In fact, the dumbasses are complaining now as we speak…"

"B-Bobby," Dean murmured in return when the man threw his arms around him, like a father would. Dean looked over Bobby's shoulder at Castiel, the man whose back was pressed against the wreckage, almost as if it were supporting him. Behind him the two assaulters were starting to wake up, their groans making the man jump and back away from the car. Soon ambulances and police cars alike joined Bobby and Castiel looked like he was surrounded, the man stumbling away with a terrified look upon his face. He looked especially terrified of the ambulances and he winced once, sharply, one hand going to cradle his head. He looked like he was in pain.

"Castiel?" Dean asked, worried that the man had hit his head or something. He pushed himself out of Bobby's hold and walked closer to the shrinking man. Bobby's eyes widened at the sight of Castiel, as if just realizing his presence. Castiel winced more at the mention of his name, looking at Dean once before running away completely, leaving a very shocked Dean Winchester in his wake.

"Wait…!" Dean roared and leapt forward, intent on running after him. In that instant Dean and Bobby were surrounded by ambulance and fellow cops alike, all fussing over the two of them as if they were the ones shot. Dean watched as Castiel got away, his green eyes worried and confused at the same time.

Just what the hell was going on?


	3. The Kept Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why did you run?" Dean asked and Castiel looked at him again, his blue eyes glazed over.
> 
> "I was scared," The man answered simply, his usual gruff weak, and Dean blinked at him.
> 
> "Why? Because of what had happened? At the diner?" Castiel shook his head with a soft smile, his eyes almost entrancing Dean with how blue they were.
> 
> "I don't like sirens." Castiel told him simply and picked up his coffee cup with both hands as he took a long sip. "…Bad things follow," The man finished quietly as he put down his cup, barely making a sound. Dean's eyebrows furrowed. He was getting no closer understanding this man than before…the man who saved him twice.

Dean sighed long and hard, the man beyond exhausted. He stood at his bathroom vanity, staring into his cracked mirror. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple, and his eyes had lost some of their brilliant hue. His past week had been literal hell. With being shot to start the week off and then end it by having two of his friends shot, and…Castiel, he was beyond worn to the bone.

Dean frowned at his reflection, one hand creeping up to his bruised collarbone. He tugged his shirt out of the way and felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of it. Any higher and Alistair would have hit his jugular for sure…Dean ran his hand over the black and yellow mark, his hand trembling a bit, taking a deep breath through his nose. He closed his eyes.

The thugs that had shot his friends had been caught not two hours after the shootout. The only thing that Dean regretted in that is the fact that he wasn't there to catch them himself. He had followed Cole and Rufus to the hospital, more forced by Bobby than anything else. He was so furious he could barely move; especially after he had seen how his friends were in obvious pain. In his heart he knew that Bobby was looking out for him, knowing just how he could snap and go on a suicidal rampage, but he so wanted to crush a few bones…After all, it was him they were aiming for. His friends had just been in the way, and that bugged Dean like no other could.

What if Sam had been there with them?

Dean openly shuddered at the thought, quickly turning on the rickety faucet and splashing water on his face. He easily could have. He had hung out with him before at Ellen's during his lunch break, before he went back to school, but that had been...before. But still, it was a possibility and that's all that mattered.

If they had shot Sam, even grazed him, they would have been dead before their damned car smashed into the pole. God, just the thought of it made Dean see red and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself, grasping onto the weary counter.

"Dean?" Dean perked up at his name, ended with a soft knock on the bathroom door. Dean smiled at himself, looking down. He consciously pulled at his collar, hiding the bruise Sam probably already knew was there.

"I'll be out in a sec, Sammy. You need the shower?"

"Yeah," Sam answered simply, voice soft. Dean hoped somewhere in his heart that he really did hear a hint of worry in his voice. But that was only false hope.

"Okay. Just needed to brush my teeth," Dean said, as if Sam asked, and opened the bathroom door. He ruffled his younger brother's head as he passed him, hoping to get a reaction. Sam groaned, patting at his mop of hair and Dean smiled slightly to himself in victory. That is, until he put his foot in his mouth.

"You really need a haircut, kid. If mom saw you…" Dean stopped himself, a sharp pain in his heart. Sam paused too, both brothers feeling awkward. They stood in silence for what feel like a good minute or two.

"Just get your damned shower," Dean sighed finally, breaking the silence, and waved his hands at him rapidly without looking him in the eye…because he couldn't; shouldn't. Sam answered by shutting the door quietly behind him, leaving his older brother to plop down on the couch with a long groan, slapping his hands over his eyes.

God, he only knew how to screw everything up…

\-------------

'…addy!'

Castiel let out a soft sob, the man tossing his head to the side in distress. He lay in a simple blow-up bed in a sparse apartment, sweat soaking through the white t-shirt he slept in. His hands white knuckled his blanket, his arms shaking in his nightmare, and his bare legs kicked at nothing. Behind his closed lids were flashes of white, and the loud grinding sound of sharp metal haunted his mind.

'…Da…!'

Blond hair whipped into his subconsciousness, the man opening his mouth in a sharp gasp, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

'…Cas…tiel…!'

Castiel's arms flew up to shield his face when stars danced behind his eyes, a loud scream tearing itself from the darkest parts of his mind and out his own mouth. He shot up screaming out loud, tears streaming down his face and mixing with his sweat. The distressed man trembled harshly in his bed, the man still in the throes of his nightmare.

"Castiel…! Castiel…!" Castiel sobbed into his arms, rocking back and forth, shielding himself from the rest of the world. From outside his one story apartment the nightlife of Chicago raged on, the sounds of ambulances and cars zooming past causing his pulse to quicken. He pressed his hands against his ears and closed his eyes shut trying to block it all out.

"…Cas…tiel!"

\-------------

"Hello? Earth to Dean Winchester?" Dean blinked out of his daze as pale fingers snapped in front of his face, the man lifting his cheek out of his palm to stare up at Charlie. The red-head looked down at him worriedly, and Dean shook his head and gave her a sharp smile.

"Yeah, what's up?" One of Charlie's eyebrows rose, unimpressed and Dean shrugged at her.

"You've been staring at nothing for the past ten minutes…Are you sure you should even be here? Didn't Bobby give you a few days leave like Cole and Rufus? Hell, Dean, you've been shot at twice this week, and it's only Thursday!" Dean huffed at her, getting up from his desk to make himself look busy.

"I'm planting my ass like he wanted, right?" Not that it helped. Cole's empty desk sat right in front of him, reminding him of what had happened, and the place was ridiculously quiet without Rufus's loud mouth. Hell, did they even play music?

"Dean…"

"What do I have to do at the apartment, Charlie, really?" Dean sighed, stopping her from continuing on what he knew to be a very well-rehearsed speech.

"Watch mindless T.V?" Charlie leaned in closer, her voice softer to add, "You want to borrow my new Belladonna vid? That'll give you something to do, right?" Charlie winked at his shocked look, a flush upon his cheeks.

"Maybe later," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. Charlie frowned.

"Wow, this week must've been crappier than I thought for you to turn down porn. Especially Belladonna…How is Sam? Still adjusting?" Dean closed his eyes with a sigh, feeling his heart plummet. He started messing with the papers on his desk, trying to organize it a bit to distract himself from his dark thoughts.

"As well as any kidnapped adolescent would I suppose," Dean snapped, whacking his stapler out of his way a little too harshly. Charlie winced.

"He doesn't honestly think that, you know," Charlie murmured and perched on the corner of Dean's desk.

"He said it," Dean said silently, feeling his eyes burn. He pushed everything away from him then, his stapler plummeting to the floor now. He pressed his face into his hands, his shoulders slumped. "I did what was right. I know that; I do. But…That kid may very well hate me, Charlie. It's almost been six months and he has barely said a few sentences to me." Charlie put a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

"He loves you, Dean. You did do the right thing…and even if he won't admit it to himself, Sam knows deep down that what your father did was wrong." Dean's eyes narrowed into slits, the man feeling hatred grip his heart like a vise.

"One year isn't enough, Charlie." Dean said his voice like poison. "He should rot for the pain he has brought my family…my mother." He had to stop, his voice drawling in tight. He felt the tears all over again and he stood abruptly, Charlie pulling back her hand just in time. "I think Bobby is right. I'm going home." Dean rounded her quickly, voice sharp and shoulders rigid, and Charlie's eyes widened with worry and guilt.

"Dean! I-I didn't mean…" She trailed off and Dean shot her a warm smile, his pain swirling within his eyes.

"I know. Have a good one, yeah? I'm heading off to get coffee." Charlie nodded her head quickly, her eyes wet too.

Dean walked out of the police department feeling every eye upon him, and he so very desperately wanted to punch something. When he was finally out he took a deep breath, a puff of steam filling the cool Chicago air. It was loud, as usual, and Dean sighed as he went to his car. 'Baby' was his only comfort of the day, the only thing his dad had ever given him.

"Ready for a ride, girl?" Dean murmured, like he would to a pet, and smoothed his hands over her smooth steering wheel, the engine purring to life almost immediately when he turned the key. Dean pulled blue and red lights out from the glove box and put them on the top of his car before he pulled out of the driveway. He had fought Bobby hard and long over using the Impala as his car, and had somehow won, so he was going to show it off. He liked to think that he had won Bobby over by his eloquent speech. However, his won could have been due to the fact that Dean was practically a son to Bobby, and Bobby a father to Dean.

Besides, Bobby couldn't deny that Baby looked good in blue and red.

Dean's heart plummeted a bit when he passed Ellen's, the windows shattered still but no glass shards to be seen. For a split second he froze at the wheel, remembering it all. They really were lucky. No one had died. Only three civilians had been injured, and none critical. But…Dean felt the guilt, and he bore it as he did Cole's and Rufus's. Ellen and Joe told him that their insurance would pay for the damages but that it would be a few weeks before they could open again.

A honk drew Dean from his thoughts, and Dean immediately smashed down the urge to flick someone off, instead choosing to point his finger at the two lights upon his car and give the bastard a cocky as hell grin when the man flushed white. Dean pulled over soon after in a parking space on the side of a busy street, his bones feeling like mush. He pressed his head against the cool steering wheel and hoped to God that anything P.T.S.D related would just go the hell away. He really didn't need that shit.

He got out the car and quickly tossed the lights back in the glove box before slamming his door shut and walking down the street with his hands shoved in his pockets. He walked down the street with a cloud of gloom and doom over his head for a while before the smells of bacon and strong ass coffee filtered through his nose. He almost drooled as he followed his nose to a crappy diner a block away, the place one Dean had passed before on his way to Ellen's. Dean looked in the window and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Castiel was sitting in there. He was sitting in there with a cup of what looked to be coffee in front of him, and was staring blanking out the opposite window, dazed as usual. Dean sighed deeply through his nose, feeling something flutter in his chest. He opened the door and walked in, nodding kindly at the woman behind the counter as he walked over to where Castiel was.

"This seat taken?" Dean asked, one hand already gripping the free chair, and felt pretty bad when Castiel jumped, the man turning to stare up at him with wide, blue eyes. Maybe it would have been better to cough first?

Dean raised his eyebrows when Castiel only shook his head. The cop thanked him as he slid into the seat, his green eyes locking with blue, curious, ones. Dean took him all in from the rumpled, uncombed hair, dirtier trench coat, ragged blue tie, and the dark shadows under his eyes that could rival even Dean's own.

"You aren't going to run, are you?" Dean asked, felt like he had to. Castiel shook his head again, his eyes not blinking. His eyes dropped to his half empty cup of coffee, a few fingers skimming across the rim. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and Dean felt an odd feeling of worry knot in his gut.

He barely knew this guy, and yet he felt worried for him? He literally just found out his name?

"Why did you run?" Dean asked and Castiel looked at him again, his blue eyes glazed over.

"I was scared," The man answered simply, his usual gruff weak, and Dean blinked at him.

"Why? Because of what had happened? At the diner?" Castiel shook his head with a soft smile, his eyes almost entrancing Dean with how blue they were.

"I don't like sirens." Castiel told him simply and picked up his coffee cup with both hands as he took a long sip. "…Bad things follow," The man finished quietly as he put down his cup, barely making a sound. Dean's eyebrows furrowed. He was getting no closer understanding this man than before…the man who saved him twice.

"I'm sorry about that," Dean murmured honestly, looking up at the waitress who came up behind him suddenly. "Yeah, I'll have the same as him. Thanks." Dean told her quickly, not waiting for her to walk away before his focus was on Castiel again. He sucked in a deep breath when he found the man to still be staring at him, his head cocked to one side. It was honestly kind of adorable…However, it was in that instant that Dean thought he remembered something…something of Castiel? His eyes…

"You're probably wondering why I'm here, right? Showing up suddenly…" Dean trailed off, looking Castiel in the eyes. "Kind of like you this past week. I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Have we met? You have saved me twice this week, and I know nothing about you…" Castiel's eyes widened and he looked down again, sadness deep in his eyes.

"This city's quite large, so perhaps we have. Those men…they were going to kill you," Castiel murmured and narrowed his eyes at the end. "I-I was frightened of them, and you fought so bravely…Then you went down." Dean's eyes flickered down to the tightened grip Castiel had on his mug, his fingers trembling. "Sirens…They were ringing in my head, and I felt coldness in my heart."

"Sirens?" Dean asked and Castiel blinked up at him like he had just given away something big.

"Don't," Castiel told him simply, his shoulders rigid. Dean closed his open mouth, hundreds of questions swimming in his head. He chose another instead.

"They could have killed you too, Cas. You know that, right?" Castiel's eyes widened a bit at the nickname, and Dean's did too hoping he didn't cross a line.

"Cas?"

"U-uh, yeah," Dean said awkwardly, feeling his cheeks heat up. "That okay?" Cas gave him a soft smile and nodded, his eyes still sad.

"…Cas…tiel," Cas murmured once, to himself, and Dean almost missed it, but Cas blinked out of it and continued on, "I knew that, but I needed to help you because…"

"Because?" Dean prompted, but Castiel's eyes were glazed over again and he stared out the window like he had when Dean had first saw him. Dean felt sickness seep into his heart. What had happened to this man? What had broken him?

"Cas…?"

"I had to…because you…" Castiel looked at Dean then, silently, his blue eyes hollow. "You…sav—"

"Here's your coffee, sweety!" Dean could have cursed out loud at the interruption, looking up at the overly cheery blonde with a forced smile. He blushed to himself, however, when he realized just how much he was invading Castiel's personal space. He pulled back with a blush that he knew affected his face and his ears, because he could feel it.

"Thanks," He retorted sharply and paid no mind to the steaming mug in front of him. He turned to look back at Castiel again and only caught the sight of tan and blue, again. Castiel was walking past him?!

"C-Cas, wait!" Dean rambled and about overturned his chair with how fast he stood up. Castiel stopped and looked back at him, the bruising under his eyes looking more pronounced.

"I have finished my coffee, Dean." Dean blinked at him, slightly annoyed. He looked back at Castiel's cup and found it to be true. When he turned back around Castiel was already out the door. Dean cursed and plopped back in his chair. He had not paid yet, and he couldn't very well just leave.

"Uh…I take it that you're paying for his too?" Dean blinked at his waitress again, the woman looking at him expectantly, holding two receipts in her hand.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled and snatched both receipts.


	4. Memories Leave Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You child," Dean sighed softly, the cop looking at his trash can sadly. He knew where Sam was…he was home. His bones felt heavy where he stood, his beer forgotten in one hand. He wouldn't be able to taste it anyways, not anymore.

After paying for both his, and Castiel's, coffee, Dean had gone back to the police station, unsure what else to do. He was too frustrated to go home. Not because of the damn coffee, but because he still had no answers, and he already had a growing list:

1) What was 'Castiel's last name (or, real name for that matter)?

2) What had happened to him?

3) Why was he so afraid of sirens?

4) Did he have a change of clothes somewhere?

5) Was he homeless?

6) Why did blue eyes plague Dean's thoughts?

Dean planned to find out, by Castiel himself or other ways. So, he did was anyone else would do in his situation: he asked a professional.

"Are you out of your damned mind, you idjit?" Dean sighed deep, rolling his eyes, his hands pressed against Bobby's beat up desk top. "You want me to investigate your flighty angel?" Dean blushed then, sputtering a bit, looking away.

"He's not my angel—"

"You do realize what Castiel means, don't you?" Bobby snapped quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. The older man watched Dean closely, amused at his red face, and annoyed at his stupidity.

"Please, won't you share with the class?" Dean asked sarcastically, plopping down in the old chair opposite of Bobby's desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking Bobby, and raised one eyebrow, waiting impatiently.

"Don't be cute, Dean," Bobby sneered, pushing Dean's feet off his desk. "It means 'The angel of Thursday.' Or one of 'em at least." Dean's eyebrows furrowed and he sat up in his chair, confused and getting even more annoyed by the second.

"'The angel of Thursday?' Why? What does that even mean?" Bobby sighed and looked Dean head-on, not letting Dean's downright prissy mood put him off.

"I'm surprised you weren't interested in the name to begin with. I mean, how many Castiels do you think are walking around? It ain't the most common out of the peanut gallery!"

"He's a weird, dorky, little guy, okay?" Dean sighed, thinking on the blue-eyed man, looking off into the distance. Bobby turned in his chair, wondering what Dean was looking at, one eyebrow raised high. "It suits him, honestly…different." Bobby's mouth quirked upwards then, his other eyebrow rising to meet the other high upon his forehead.

"Oh…I get it. You're interested in a slice of angel food cake, are ya?"

"What—are you craz—?" Dean stammered and Bobby hummed, cutting him off.

"Well…This'll be good for you, and funny as hell for me." Before Dean could ask what the hell he meant, Bobby stood, the other man patting down his rumpled suit. "So, how 'bout you look up the meaning behind the name, eh? Get back at me tomorrow." Dean stared up at him, open-mouth, like a fish. "Well? You're technically supposed to be on leave, so scram boy!" Dean closed his mouth then, getting up silently.

"Oh," Bobby said, placing one hand on Dean's shoulder, stilling him. "Try looking up Cassiel, first." At this point Dean could only nod his head, knowing that he wasn't going to get anything else out of the man.

\-----------

Dean sighed as he opened the door to his apartment, more or less throwing his leather jacket on the dining room floor. He scrubbed his short hair with one hand, rain drops spraying the vinyl floor. The trip home was hazy, and he felt pretty damned happy he hadn't crashed on the way home because of how hard it had begun to rain, and not to mention just how his brain was just so done for the day. 

He went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, stopping to look at the time before taking a long sip. 5:34. Right, food. "Sam, what do you want for dinner?" He waited for a minute before his eyebrows furrowed. Sam was usually home by now. Either he was in his room, ignoring him, or he was off…somewhere.

"Sam?" Dean called again, standing in the kitchen feeling like a dumbass. He cursed under his breath when he saw a yellow post-it stuck on the dining room table. He snatched it off and read it quickly:

'I'm going over to a friend's house for a few days. Exams.

Sam'

Dean cursed out loud now, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the trash can. Right; yeah, okay. It was early March, and Dean knew that exams wouldn't be for another month. He'd checked. Sam was lying to him.

"You child," Dean sighed softly, the cop looking at his trash can sadly. He knew where Sam was…he was home. His bones felt heavy where he stood, his beer forgotten in one hand. He wouldn't be able to taste it anyways, not anymore.

Every instinct told him to jump into the impala and hightail his ass over to where Sam was. Only…what right did he have? What right did he have to keep Sam away from their mother; their mother who loved Sam so dearly?

Dean sniffed loudly, allowing, and hating, how his eyes welled up. He clenched his jaw, and licked his bottom lip, not allowing one tear to fall. How many more tears could he weep for his family until they loved him again...if they ever had?

Dean stared down at his beer then, the can lifting to his mouth so fast he busted his top lip on the rim. He may not have been able to taste it, but he'd be able to feel something later, and that's all that mattered.

No. If Sam wanted to be with her for a night, he would let him. He would let him because he honestly felt like he could not handle seeing his mother at that current time. He hadn't had enough alcohol to be able to see his mother's sympathetic, accusing, eyes look upon him. No. He would get Sam in the morning.

Dean more or less stumbled to his couch then, not drunk, but hopeless. He allowed his brain to think of Castiel instead, of his mysteries. The cop drained the last of his beer before he pulled out his laptop, listening to the sound of the rain hitting his small apartment window as he waited for it to turn on.

\-----------

Castiel stood out in the rain, looking up in the grayish white sky, his blue eyes brighter in the blistery mess. He was soaked to the bone, his trench coat a dark brown weight that clung to his lithe form, wrapping around his legs. All around him people were rushing along the street, umbrellas covering their heads from the miserable March rain, going home to their families.

Castiel couldn't seem to be bothered by it all as he closed his eyes with a sigh, allowing the rain to run down his face, drip down his eyelashes, and cause his body to tremble with cold. He opened his eyes, blinking as drops of rain blinded his brilliant blues for a quick second.

"Are you okay? It's freezing out here!" A voice rang out over the hard pour, and Castiel blinked from his daze. He hummed in disappointment when an umbrella covered his head, his short brown hair dripping cold droplets upon a red coat. He looked down to find a red-head looking up at him like he'd lost his mind.

The red-head gasped and Castiel blinked hotly. He was crying. "Forgive me," Castiel murmured, not knowing when the tears had begun. He wiped his eyes with a shaking hand, chilled to the bone. The red-head shook her head, her eyes tender. She tugged on Castiel's sopping wet coat, pulling him away from the crowded street and under a shop's awning.

"Before I say anything else, I want to introduce myself. I'm Charlie Bradbury." Charlie smiled and closed her umbrella, giving Castiel her undivided attention. "You know, you could catch your death out here." Castiel looked at her silently, his upper lip twitching with what looked to be the beginnings of a smile.

"Not possible, miss," Castiel said as he looked out and up at the sky again. "That possibly has long since evaded me." Charlie's mouth thinned out then, unsure of how to take that information. Was this man suicidal?

"Perhaps now is the time to tell you that I'm a cop…Okay, so I work mostly behind a desk, but still a cop." Charlie rustled through her Star Wars purse and flashed her badge, huffing when it flashed upside down. She blushed and stuffed it back inside. So much for smooth. "Like, meaning, if you want to talk about anything, you definitely can!" Castiel cocked his head at her, his lips definitely curling into a smile then.

"That is very kind, but not necessary." Castiel said and Charlie couldn't help but smile at his gummy one, despite the heavy sadness behind his eyes. "Thank you for sharing your umbrella, Charlie," Castiel told her, Charlie feeling like he would have preferred to stand out in the rain. Castiel turned to go, but Charlie stopped him.

"Whoa dude, I told you my name, and I totally trust you not to be a serial killer here. What's yours?" Castiel blinked at her, standing in the rain again.

"…Castiel." Cas murmured, barely a hum over the rain. Charlie blinked wide, a wide smile spreading across her face.

"Like, Castiel the angel, Castiel? Dude that is totally rad! My mom used to tell me that story—of the archangel, you kno—hey!" Charlie huffed as Castiel walked away from her to disappear into the hustling crowd, the man lost in a cloud of black umbrellas. Charlie stood on her toes, looking for him. When she didn't see him, she clicked her tongue, pulling her Always, Harry Potter, umbrella back over her head.

"Please don't be a serial killer," Charlie murmured under her breath, finding comfort in the fact that Dean would avenge her death if he were.

Castiel wandered down a dark street soon after leaving Charlie, the man sparing one last look in the bustling, livelier, street behind him before he started walking again. He stopped at an intercom, pressing the button under the letter N. A muffled bark drew his attention and the man paused, looking down with a smile when a muddy lab wagged its way over to him, sitting down right in front of him.

"Hello again, my friend," Castiel murmured and ran a soothing hand down the stray dogs head, scratching behind its ears. The dog was as wet as he was and he shook his body, spraying mud and whatever other gunk he had on him onto Cas who laughed and shook his head in response, his hair standing up in dripping spikes. The lab panted, and whined, pawing at Cas who smiled and nodded. "Just this once, then…to get you out of the rain. I must warn you now; I have nothing for you to eat." Castiel pressed one finger to his lips as he opened the door, dog in tow, and rushed up the stairs, leaving the door wide open.

He did the same to his own apartment door, wide open. The lab looked back at it once before following Castiel into the apartment, tail wagging. The apartment had very few things, two to be exact: Castiel's blow-up mattress, and one weary lamp that sat near the bed on the floor. The kitchen had a simple oven, a microwave, and a tiny fridge, but none of them looked used. It was hardly an apartment, more like four walls…a prison.

Castiel ran one hand through his wet hair, sighing low in his throat. He looked at the lab by his legs and smiled, toeing off his soaked shoes and walking into the bathroom, turning on the hot water at full blast, and turned a wobbly knob for the shower. As steam began to fill the room, Castiel slowly began to try and pull his clothes off his clammy form, his trench coat dropping to the floor, forgotten.

He paused for a second, his fingers trembling upon the third button of his dress shirt, and it wasn't because of the cold. Castiel sucked in a deep breath before he hurried through the remaining buttons, his eyes unable to pull away from the horrid red gash that marred the tan skin down his right side. It was long, and deep, the scar sunk into his skin as an everyday reminder…reminder of that day. Castiel tenderly touched it, his fingers dipping in slightly.

'…Da…!'

Castiel winced openly, his hand whipping away from the wound altogether, choosing to grip onto the dirty sink rim. Behind him, the dog whined in worry.

"...No," Castiel huffed and fell to his knees, his hands still gripping the sink, trembling. The dog hurried to him, lapping at his chilled face and pained expression. Cas threw his arms around it, burying his face into the dog's matted fur, like a small child. "No." Behind him, the shower continued on, and the door to Castiel's apartment still stood wide open, forgotten.


	5. The Destroyer of Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Winchester was an abusive man. He had been for as long as Dean could remember. What was worse? He did not touch his sons. No, whatever anger that fueled him, he took it out on their mother…Their gentle, warm, mother. To Dean, it felt as if his father had done more. He had not hit them, never did, but he ruined him.

Dean sighed deeply as he parked the Impala on the side of the road, his green eyes locked onto a little white house. The house looked normal enough; white picket fence, blue shutters, and covered in green plants. However, the cop knew the terrors that had raged in the house personally, so whatever comfort there was to be had, he felt none…Only anger and pain.

He didn't want to be there. His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest, and he had to take a minute or two before he got out of his car. He wasn't wanted here…perhaps never was, but he came for Sam; and Sam alone. He expected nothing else. That is, if Sam would come willingly this time.

Dean had sent Sam a text before he went to sleep the night before, explaining his intent, and the time he would pick him up. He received no answer, as was expected, but Dean knew Sam had received it. The little check mark confirmed it. So Dean was only a little shocked when the door opened before he even made it to the porch, a night bag over Sam's shoulder.

Dean stilled as Sam brushed past him without making contact, heading to the Impala. Then, Dean froze completely. His mother stood at the opened door, her eyes upon her eldest son. Dean couldn't look away, his green eyes as wide as her own. Her blonde hair was swept up in a messy bun, and she had deep circles under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, and her eyes blamed Dean quite openly. Dean's jaw locked; his body rigid as a rod.

"She doesn't want to talk to you." Sam muttered under his breath as he passed Dean again, this time heading back to the house. Dean could only watch him go, tensed and wide-eyed. He'd known that to begin with. Mary looked away then, and Dean finally took a breath, looking away himself.

"Yeah," The cop managed to croak, giving them both a tight smile. His hands trembled in his pockets quite visibly, but he managed to keep his anxiety only in his hands. Mary's eyes flickered down to them and Dean forced the trembling to stop altogether. He could not let his pain show; not now. Sam looked at his hands too, once, before going back in the house, Mary stepping aside to let him in with a small smile.

Dean felt like he was going to throw up. He hated it.

Dean turned to go, without another word, and about jolted when he felt someone wrap a hand around his forearm, stopping him. The man turned around, wide-eyed, to find equally green eyes staring into his own. His mother held onto his arm tightly, her hands trembling as hard as his own.

Dean couldn't breathe again, and his eyes whipped up to find Sam staring at them, wide-eyed himself, his laptop tucked under one arm. He shared a shocked look with his younger brother before he was brought back by the caress of a chilled hand upon his unshaven cheek.

Mary looked at him, her eyes screaming multiple emotions at once: anger, hurt, betrayal…forgiveness? Dean blinked in shock, in denial. No, there was no forgiveness to be had. It had to be hatred he saw. He only wished her caress had been a slap to his face instead. The gentleness of her hand hurt worse.

Dean closed his eyes and pulled away, his jaw clenching once. His eyes felt raw, and he knew that he was probably on the verge of tears, or already crying. He gently tugged his arm free and started walking away from his mother, from his brother, and the damned house. He got in the car without a word, starting the car. He honked once, sharp, a warning.

Dean didn't look at Sam when the car door was opened, waiting only for Sam to close the door again before the Impala's tires screamed as loud as his mind as he stomped the gas, the law be damned. His eyes were burning, and he knew then that he really had been crying. He did not care to know for how long, and was honestly glad for Sam's silence for once.

Sam looked out the back window, tears in his own eyes, watching as his mother grew smaller and smaller as the Impala raged away. She was still where Dean had left her, one hand extended towards them both.

Dean said nothing as they reached the apartment. His hand was shaking so badly that he could barely turn the key to open the door. When he did finally manage to open it, he about ran through it, and away from his brother. He went into his room without a word, leaving Sam to lock the door. Dean could not handle him right now, and he felt that Sam felt the same, and his tears came at full force.

Dean all about collapsed on his unmade bed, on his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow. He refused to let any sounds escape as he wept. He wept for Sam, he wept for his mother, and, lastly, he wept in anger over his father. He no longer wept for himself. They did not care for him…and neither did he.

Dean could barely look himself in the mirror anymore without feeling like a homewrecker. He, Dean Winchester, the Destroyer of Worlds; he had torn his family apart with his own hands. That was what his mother's eyes had told him; reminded him.

Mistake.

Destroyer.

Unwanted.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, feeling hot tears soak into his pillow, and blue dots danced behind his closed lids. He thought of his mother's small hands, and their warmth. She was so small, so fragile. She had lived a hard life…Especially with John Winchester.

John Winchester was an abusive man. He had been for as long as Dean could remember. What was worse? He did not touch his sons. No, whatever anger that fueled him, he took it out on their mother…Their gentle, warm, mother. To Dean, it felt as if his father had done more. He had not hit them, never did, but he ruined him.

With each strike laid upon his mother, Dean felt something break deep within his soul. Mary was silent under his rage, intent on trying to quell her husband's demons. But Dean knew, long ago, that his father's demons were too great to be tamed. And he felt his own begin to itch at his brain from an early age.

Dean hated his father. He had decided that the very moment his mother's skin was blossoming black and yellow. That was why he became a cop. He wanted to stop the pain, and he wanted to be the one to stop it with his own hands. However, whatever love, and gratitude, he had originally thought would come to him, was quickly wiped away.

That was his sin: he had arrested his own father. He had finally put an end to the abuse, and he thought that he had managed to save his family. But…no; the moment that John was carried away, whatever anger that had been stored up inside his mother came upon Dean. Her soft hands had turned to iron, and they struck him as if he were his father. She had cursed him—his very existence—and Dean felt lost ever since.

Mary was inconsolable after John was arrested, and was deemed unfit to care for Sam. Sam, being only fifteen at the time, was faced with the option of foster care. And Dean? Dean was watching his family fall apart by the doing of his own hands, and he did only what he could: he became Sam's legal guardian at the age of twenty-two. Sam did not want to go—did not want to leave their unstable mother—and had told Dean more than once that he hated him.

'This is your fault! Your fault! You have broken my heart—'

His mother's last words had wrung in his head ever since, as well as the feel of her fists.

Dean fell asleep with tears still running down his cheeks, and to the soft sobs of his younger brother from the other room. For he was, after all, the Destroyer of Worlds—homewrecker.


	6. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is that a flirtation?" Castiel asked and Dean's face flared instantly. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, coughing once, his ears hot. Castiel looked at him with a smile upon his face.
> 
> "And if it is?" Dean asked, green eyes jumping up to gage the other man's expression.

The weekend seemed to go on forever for the Winchester brothers, both avoiding one another, waiting for Monday to save them. When Monday did come around, both sighed with relief. They did not talk of their tears, or of their sharp feelings, and continued on as if Saturday morning never happened.

For Dean, he felt a sharp pain in his chest when he sighed in relief the moment Sam left for school. He felt like shit for feeling like he did—relief. He loved Sam. He loved him so much, but he could not handle Sam's scrutinizing stare for another minute. So, yeah, he was so relieved. And work? He couldn't get there fast enough. In fact, he got there nearly an hour early.

"You're early, boy," Bobby greeted him as he walked past him to get to his desk, he being the only one there other than Dean. Dean hummed around the rim of his coffee mug, blinking his bloodshot eyes. Bobby frowned. "You okay, son?" The older man asked knowingly, eying Dean like he would fall over any second. In his defense, Dean looked horrible. Red eyes, deep purple circles beneath, and his scruff was more or less looking like a beard.

"I'm good," Dean told him with a yawn, setting his mug down. "I just had one crappy weekend." Dean huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. "A really, really, horrible weekend. I'm just glad it's over." Bobby's frown grew only deeper.

"You and Sam okay?" Dean tensed then, glancing at Bobby warily.

"That obvious?" Dean murmured and Bobby sighed.

"I've known you since you were in diapers, you idjit. Of course! Now, want to…I dunno, unload? Talk about it?" Dean sighed long and hard, rubbing his sore eyes with both hands, weaving his fingers through his hair. He looked lost, his head shaking slightly, eyes flickering back and forth.

"I just don't know what to do, and that is the honest truth. Sam…My mom…She, I…" Bobby placed one hand on Dean's shoulder, the younger man just then noticing its trembling.

"Why don't you take the day off then, we've got it covered here." Bobby murmured softly, his hand squeezing Dean's shoulder tenderly. Dean smiled at him tiredly, adoringly.

"That won't help none, my brain's just all jumbled…I need to work." Bobby nodded.

"Then how about you go on patrol for a while? Go get some coffee? Go up near 6th street and just plant yourself?" Dean huffed a real laugh then.

"6th street? It's all white picket fence paradise there. The only action is if ole lady Lilith loses "Lucifer" in a stumpy ass tree again!"

"Hey, the cat had feelings too, ya know…claws and all."

"Yeah, I felt those feelings for well over a week. The beast used me as a scratching post! Fricking cat was evil."

"Well," Bobby said, his eyebrows rising, "She couldn't've named him Lucifer because he was a sweetheart."

"No shit," Dean laughed with a nod. "6th street it is then. Thanks Bobby." Bobby smiled warmly, nodding his head towards the door.

"Get out of here, boy, or I'll sick Charlie on you." Dean laughed again, downing the rest of his coffee. Dean collected his things and left, feeling a little lighter, but still extremely tired. Hell, he could probably nap when he got to 6th street, if everything turned out as spick and span as he expected it would be.

\-----------

Castiel frowned at his reflection in the mirror—at the bags under his eyes. He felt oddly good, something he silently associated it being Monday…the beginning of a new week. Mondays had always seemed like a new beginning to him, so they brought an odd since of comfort…A new beginning. Yeah, that sounded nice.

Castiel sighed and splashed cold water on his face, patting his haggard appearance. His beard had grown out quite a lot, and it made him look older…dirtier. Frowning, he fished a razor from a drawer, turning his face from side-to-side, smiling. A new week—a fresh start. He could do this. This time for sure.

\-----------

Dean was bored. There was literally nothing to do. The streets were quiet, and he sat in his car listening to the radio. To pass the time he entertained himself by balancing a pen on his cupids bow, head leaned back on his seat. Yeah, he wished someone would go ahead and do something stupid; he would even settle for Lucifer, claws and all. His thoughts seemed to go from his family, his infuriatingly silent pager, and, lastly, to Castiel.

Yeah, Dean was kinda stuck thinking about him…which kind of confused him, to be honest. He was attracted to him that much was obvious, and that wasn't what confused him. Dean had known for a long time that his tastes weren't solely women, and a few men had caught his eye before, but…Castiel? He was a mystery. He was a gorgeous, weird, trench coat wearing mystery, and the more that Dean learnt of his name, the more he wanted to know about him.

For one, who would name their kid Castiel? Seriously? Like, if you wanted to name your son after an angel then why not go for the real name, Cassiel? Why change it? Cassiel meant the angel of Saturday, whilst Castiel meant Thursday, at least that's what Wikipedia had told him. So, was Castiel born on Thursday and his parents somehow abbreviated it to compliment his birth?

Dean chewed on his pen, lost in thought. Thinking of Castiel was so much better than thinking of anything else. He had really nice eyes. Probably the bluest that Dean had ever seen before and they were only a little mesmerizing. Okay, they were really mesmerizing. When they looked upon him, Dean felt at a loss for words, for they gave Dean their open interest. They looked at him like he was something more. Castiel looked at him like he was the most interesting person ever, even if his eyes seemed haunted by his past. It made Dean's stomach flutter in ways it never had before.

Dean opened his eyes, staring up at the roof of his car. Castiel…he had real nice lips too. They were really pink and Dean could only imagine what they would look like if they smiled…if Cas smiled. Dean let the pen roll to his mouth, the man catching it between his teeth. He could feel his face go hot as he thought more about the other man, his focus seeming to zero in on Castiel's mouth.

Shit, he was thinking about how they would taste. Soft and warm…teeth clashing, soft sighs, and—a soft knock on the glass of his car door caused Dean to jolt upright, cursing and burning a bright red. Dean burned even brighter when he came face to face with the man he was thinking about.

"Hello Dean," Castiel murmured softly, a slight smile on the very lips Dean had very recently realized he wanted to kiss.

"Don't do that!" Dean gasped the shock still there. He hurriedly got out his car, running his fingers through his hair and tugging on his pants awkwardly, wondering if Castiel's blue eyes could see what his thoughts were. "God, you appear out of nowhere! You gave me a heart attack!" Castiel frowned, the man looking like a kicked puppy.

"My apologies," Castiel murmured awkwardly, chewing on his bottom lip. He looked at Dean bashfully, his blue eyes twinkling in the sun. "I could recognize your car anywhere, and I wanted to thank you for the coffee." Castiel grinned then, his eyes twinkling even more with mischief. Dean huffed a laugh, eyes brighter than they had been for days.

"That's what that was, then, my promise from when we first met."

'Yeah, I'll buy you coffee.'

Castiel smiled the brightest Dean had ever seen then, teeth showing. "Yeah," the man said simply and Dean shook his head, still chuckling. "You have a nice laugh," Castiel told Dean and Dean looked at him, blue eyes boring through his green ones.

"And you have a nice smile," Dean told him and Cas' eyes widened with a blush. They were both blushing like a couple of teenagers and Dean coughed awkwardly after a few seconds. "What are you doing here anyways?" Castiel's eyes began to darken then, the normal sadness coming back. Dean frowned at the sudden change, but Castiel ignored him.

"I-I like to walk, and this is the safest area in the whole city." Castiel told him, looking down the calm street. "It's nice here…quiet." Dean nodded thoughtfully, watching Castiel's passive face as he turned to look at him again. "And you? Aren't you usually all guns and glory? What are you doing down 6th street?" Dean huffed a laugh, looking down.

"Long story short, my boss thought I needed to cool my head, so he sent me to watch apple pie life." Castiel frowned, eyes narrowing, and head cocking to the side.

"Why would you need to cool off?" Blue eyes seemed to zero in on the bags under Dean's eyes, and how blood shocked they were, and they widened a bit. "Are you okay? You look exhausted…"

"And you…," Dean countered, trying to change the subject. "You shaved?" Dean blinked at him, shocked. The other man's usually tattered trench coat had been washed, giving Dean a reason to give him a once over. It still looked worn to the bone, but it was actually clean. And his suit looked clean too…the tie still backwards though. "Is that hair gel?" Castiel burned red, patting at his groomed hair. Dean smiled. He looked adorable.

"…I felt better today," Castiel murmured, looking down as he played with the torn belt of his trench coat, the belt finger worn already. "I wanted to…change, per say."

"You look nice, Cas," Dean told him reassuringly. Dean could see how Castiel's ears burned red at his compliment, his fingers still messing with his belt.

"Thank you," The man murmured softly, looking up, smiling. That is, until his eyes looked deep within Dean again, making Dean's stomach flutter. "You averted my earlier question…but I will let it pass, as long as you tell me if you are indeed all right. Truly." Dean blinked at him again, feeling his heart tighten.

"I'm okay, Cas…truly. It's just family issues." Castiel's eyes glazed over at the mention of family, the man seeming to step out of reality in the matter of five seconds. Dean's heart dropped. "Castiel?" Dean murmured and gripped onto the man's right arm. Castiel jumped out of his daze, blinking at Dean like he didn't know where he was.

"Are you all right?" Dean asked slowly, eyes glued to Castiel's unfocused ones, his grip strong upon the other man's arm. After a second or two Castiel seemed to come back, shaking his head and letting out a rather sad laugh.

"I guess I need to cool my head too," Castiel said listlessly, and Dean frowned in worry, his grip on his arm lessening. Dean hummed once, the cop looking down the quiet street, thoughtfully.

"Want to get out of here, then?" Dean asked Castiel, the man blinking at him again.

"But, I thought that you were on duty?" Castiel asked him simply, confusion upon his face. Dean smiled warmly.

"My boss planted me here because he knew that nothing ever happens on 6th street. Basically, he let me have the day off to begin with…So…what do you say? Would you be interested in cooling off with me today?" Dean could feel his ears burn at his question, and at the slow smile that creeped upon Castiel's face.

"Is that a flirtation?" Castiel asked and Dean's face flared instantly. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, coughing once, his ears hot. Castiel looked at him with a smile upon his face.

"And if it is?" Dean asked, green eyes jumping up to gage the other man's expression.

"Well," Castiel said slowly, his blue eyes burning with more life than Dean had ever seen before. He stepped closer into Dean's space, the cop unconsciously taking a step back, shocked when his back pressed against the Impala's sleek black door. "I wouldn't mind another cup of coffee," Castiel finished innocently, seemingly unaware that he was currently invading Dean's personal space quite intimately. Dean gulped with a simple nod, his face hot, and Castiel's answering smile made Dean's stomach do back flips.

God, now that he saw his smile, Dean knew that it would be addicting. The only problem was keeping it there…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on FanFiction, so I'm transferring the chapters over here! How do you guys like it so far? It may be rough, this being my first destiel anything, so any comments are appreciated. Thanks! :)


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